


bright my hopes, and soft

by dishonestdreams, MistressKat, pushkin666



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Beltane, Ficlet, Flowers, Gift Giving, M/M, Pre-Slash, Round Robin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:48:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23981848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dishonestdreams/pseuds/dishonestdreams, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushkin666/pseuds/pushkin666
Summary: "Crowley, dear," Aziraphale says. "Please explain this to me."
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	bright my hopes, and soft

**Author's Note:**

> Another round robin ficlet from virtual fangirl night.

"Crowley, dear," Aziraphale says. "Please explain this to me." His voice is kind, devastatingly, _terminally_ kind much like a sword through a heart. 

"Uh, I..." Crowley licks his lips, realises his tongue is maybe a little forked, and swiftly curls it back into his mouth. "It was not my fault."

That much is absolutely true. Still, he has a sneaking suspicion that Aziraphale will consider the whole thing his _responsibility_ regardless.

"I see," Aziraphale says. "I would still appreciate an explanation for... This." He makes a sweeping a gesture that encompasses the bookshop.

Or, what used to be the bookshop and now is... Something else. Something covered with flowers.

"In my defence," Crowley says, "This is not really what I had in mind. It's something of a 'lost in translation' type of scenario."

That is possibly the understatement of the century. Probably longer, if he's honest. It may, in fact, rival his previous best contender, although Crowley's not prepared to commit to that just yet, and certainly not aloud.

"Quite, quite." Aziraphale nods, in that dreadfully accommodating way that he has, the one that Crowley suspects will accommodate him all the way to full culpability. "How so?"

"Well," Crowley says, "I asked for them to decorate the doorway."

Aziraphale looks toward where the door had once been and where a cascade of primroses now rests instead. "This does appear to be more... comprehensive than just the doorway, Crowley."

"Ah." Crowley rubs his hand across the back of his head. "I forgot to specify which doorway."

"You forgot to specify which doorway!" Aziraphale looks between him and the flowers as though he really doesn't know what to say.

"Um." Crowley scratches the back of his head and seriously contemplates changing back into a snake. This really is too much to think about. He wonders whether he can get Aziraphale's attention away from the flowers, if suggesting tea at the Ritz will work. 

"Why so many colours, my dear?" Aziraphale asks as though he's still trying to get his head around it.

"Well, I asked them to use seasonal colours and you know that everything is beginning to flourish right now so…" He shrugs. "There's a lot of colours. It is that time of year though, you know Beltane, May Day, new beginnings." 

He's not sure if Aziraphale is buying it, but it's not as if the bookshop has been damaged in any way. It's just that Aziraphale is going to need a lot of vases.

Crowley snaps his fingers and about fifty Waterford crystal vases appear.

Aziraphale hums, maybe just a tiny bit approvingly, and with a snap of his own deposits most of the flowers inside them. Then he rushes off to inspect the condition of his precious books, running careful fingers over spines, brushing off any stray petals that have dared to settle onto the ancient pages.

The whole process takes several minutes, during which Crowley forgets to breathe and silently fidgets on the spot.

"Well," Aziraphale finally says, turning around, "No harm done it seems."

Crowley slumps in relief and then immediately straightens up, pretending he hadn't. "Good?" he hazards.

Aziraphale's eyes have returned to survey the flowers again, but now with a whole new type of contemplation. "They really are... Quite lovely."

"Spring," Crowley says, airily, with a wave of his hand. "Life, brightness, flowers. Everything that should appeal to an angel. Past angelic transgressions from the stereotype notwithstanding, naturally."

Aziraphale eyebrows lift so high they look as though they are making a concerted effort to join his hairline. "Angelic... transgressions?"

"Your lot have an exceptionally good public relations department," Crowley points out, and Aziraphale sniffs.

"It's a little more complicated than that," he says, reprovingly, before he looks back to the flowers again. "Regardless though, I shan't be distracted. This is a most lovely, albeit surprising, gesture."

Crowley squints, tilting his head to one side as he follows Aziraphale's line of contemplation. The flowers don't _look_ particularly shocking. "Where's the surprise? Beyond, obviously, the excessive volume."

"Well," Aziraphale says, and the look he cuts at Crowley is devastatingly _knowing_. "You _do_ remember what _else_ Beltane symbolises, don't you?"

Crowley stares and, then well he stares again. He can't quite believe what Aziraphale is implying.

"Well it symbolises new beginnings, doesn't it?" he says, scratching the back of his neck.

"Not quite." Aziraphale stares back at him. "I'm sure you've jumped many a Beltane fire in your time, haven't you?"

And there's the kicker. Crowley may be a demon but he's not a goddess worshipping pagan and he hasn't ever jumped a Beltane fire no matter what Aziraphale may be implying or indeed asking.

"No," he answers quietly. "I've never done that. You know we don't have much time for goddesses in hell."

Aziraphale takes a brightly clad flower from one of the vases and steps closer to Crowley. "Oh, my dear" he says, handing him the flower. "Don't you think it's time you started".


End file.
